Special Education
by brittanasnaya
Summary: Santana's daughter Sugar has Asperger's. Brittany is Sugar's private teacher. With every lesson Brittany teaches Sugar, Santana discovers more about herself.
1. Chapter 1

"_Aspergers_."

I have always underestimated the power of words.

The truth is, one word has the power to change your world. One word can present you with a complete new, unwelcome reality. And in that moment, the word _Asperger's_ had the inevitable power to drive me into a world of obscurity... a world of hopelessness.

The doctor firmly sat behind his desk as he muffled this cringe-worthy statement.

As soon as I was able to grasp what he was saying, I felt like the ceiling was going to crumble down. I felt like a weight was pulling me into a horrid reality that I had been neglecting for years. I felt like the walls were going to collapse. My heart was beating at a speed I could not control. My whole world was falling apart.

That one word ruined everything, just as I was trying to get my life back on track.

"I'm afraid your daughter has a type of Autism that is commonly referred to as Aspergers Syndrome." Dr. Smythe continued to utter his words apologetically. I looked deeply into his eyes as mine began to water.

I was irked by the falsified sympathetic look he tried to maintain as he continued to speak more of my only daughter's illness. I looked to my right, only to see that Sugar had no interest in what was going on. She was biting her nails aggressively as she always had in awkward, nerve-racking situations.

My hands started shaking profoundly, my eyes were unable to maintain focus and were drifting away from the gruesome look in the doctor's eyes. Unable to utter a word, I was forced into a deep silence.

_How could I have been so negligent?_ I thought to myself. My eyes gradually began to water up more and more as I dove myself into a depressing breakdown.

My daughter, my only child, Sugar, was just sitting at the end of the room, in the doctor's uncomfortable black leather chair, motionless… Listening to her own mother cry… And didn't even bother to look up.

_How_ could_ I not have seen this? How could I not have known how serious this was?_

"Ms. Lopez, I know this is hard for you. But your daughter will still be able to go to school. Nothing about her will change. Sugar is actually a very intelligent girl. And there are ways to make the negative symptoms decrease." He said in a comforting tone, attempting to calm me down.

I had been looking for answers for a few years now, I knew something was different about Sugar. I chose to deny the evident truth about my daughter and her slightly out-of-the ordinary behavior.

I did not believe in normality. There is nothing normal about any human being. Being normal is being dull. I guess I've admired Sugar's need for space, her pickiness, her dryness, and her uncontrollable focus on topics that are of interest to her.

I admired everything that made her different. I never wanted her to be defined by her dissimilarities. I wanted her to embrace them. That was where my fear of diagnosis came from: Everything that was unique about my daughter was going to be assimilated with a fucking illness from now on. I didn't want my daughter to be defined by anything. I didn't want society to put a label on Sugar and I most certainly did _not_ want to be the one to push it down on her either.

The minute the doctor diagnosed my daughter, I knew that everything was going to change. My behavior towards Sugar was going to change in order to suit the needs of a child with Asperger's. I knew that society was going to label her as being different, awkward, weird and maybe even _crazy_. Their attitudes are undoubtedly going to change as well.

"What_ symptoms_?" I went on "She's fucking normal! What is so different about her? That she's distant? That she doesn't give a crap about other people's feelings? Fuck, I'm like that too. I hate people too. How about you fucking diagnose _me_ with Asperger's too?" These words came out my mouth due to a horrendous combination of confusion and frustration.

I shook my head left and right and dove into a deeper collapse. I was unable to get on board with this new-bound reality. It was too overwhelming.

"Asperger's isn't about hating people." The doctor went on, making sure I could clearly understand what was going on. "Sugar may face some difficulties involving social relationships however. Her brain is wired in a certain way that won't allow her to understand the basics of the human interactive process. She currently isn't sympathizing with you because her brain doesn't associate your tears with pain. She doesn't realize that you're in pain."

"She's an amazing kid." I gulped, wiping my tears away from my puffy, red cheeks. "And she really is smart for a five-year-old. I…"

"I can recommend you to a child therapist and a Special Ed teacher." He said in a reassuring tone.

I stayed quiet. I pressed my lips together and tried to hold my tears as I gazed out the window that stood right above my daughter's head. I didn't speak for a while. We both sat, paralleling each other, trapped in an inevitable silence.

"The sooner you start to treat her, the better." He paused to straighten his tie and proceeded in a calmer, more empathic tone. "Listen Santana, I know this is difficult for you. As a doctor, it is my job to help my patients and recommend what is best for them."

I sighed.

"We've been doing tests for almost a year." He proceeded "Her diagnosis was difficult. We finally have answers now, and that's a big step. Let's just move forward from now on. Let's not make this a bigger deal than it is."

I prolonged my silence, allowing the doctor to feel even more out of comfort.

He was right though, we were fighting for answers for far too long and now we have them. It doesn't necessarily feel better, if anything I kind of wish I could go back to not knowing anything and assuming that her abnormalities were a part of her character, and that her whole persona could not have been defined with one word but with an endless novel.

"I would also like to recommend some books that I think would be helpful to you and to your child." He pulled out a notebook and a pen from his desk drawer and continued, "books that you can read to your daughter, to her friends. Books that you can read to yourself so you can be more informed about A.S."

He began writing down a list of books I was not familiar with. All included similar titles.

"I… I don't think I can afford it." I said tentatively, hating every bit of myself.

"What?"

"The therapists and the teachers and the doctors… I want her to get better. It's just; I'm a twenty-three-year-old mom. My mom and Puck can only help me with so much." I sighed, adding a crushing tone of self-disappointment.

I could sense that Dr. Smythe was judging me by the simple raising of his eyebrows "I work solely for the well-being of mine and my husband Kurt's children. Parents are supposed to sacrifice everything for their children."

I nodded slowly and looked down on the ground. We stayed silent for a while. Neither one of us was able to look at the other. I could not do it because I knew he was judging me, and he couldn't bear throwing a glance at me because of his obvious disappointment in my recent revelation.

"Puck and I... we are not on the best terms... financially. We're having a lot of trouble trying to provide Sugar with the best medical care. We also have other finances to worry about, ones that can provide her with other activities. We have bills to pay." I admitted solemnly.

Dr. Smythe paused, presenting me with an agonizing silence. A few minutes later, he added "I know a great special education teacher who would probably be willing to work for little money. This might be a hassle because she just graduated from college, but she's really good with children. She's my sister-in-law. You'll love her."

"Can you write down her name and her number for me?" I asked soundlessly, showcasing a bit of contentment. This was the first positive feedback I had received today.

He grinned and did as I requested.

The secretary knocked on his door and entered the room, interrupting our meeting: "Dr. Sebastian Smythe, your next patient is waiting for you outside."

I glanced at my watch and came to the sudden realization that I had been stuck in this office, crying my eyeballs out for roughly an hour. I had to go. The meeting was officially over.

"Thank you so much for your time doctor, but I have to go." I said in a rushed tone.

"You don't have to rush, it's okay they can wait."

"Nah, I better get going. My mother is waiting for us in the house and I should get back to work."

"Okay, off you go then" I stared at Dr. Smythe once again. He flashed a warm and welcoming smile that made me feel quite at ease. His dimples shimmered and his teeth were clear as day.

I might have been wrong about him. Maybe he did care about his patients after all.

"Wait, don't forget to take these with you." He ripped the page off the notebook where he had jotted down the names of the books and the teacher.

He stood up from his chair, walked over and handed it to me. I pushed it hurriedly in my handbag.

His smile had brightened up. He no longer had that look of false sympathy in his eyes. He hugged me and followed it up by waving at the five-year-old, who was still sitting across the room, with her legs crossed, focusing all of her attention on her fingernails.

I walked over to her and took her by her hand as I rushed out of the doctor's narrow and dim office.

It was a ten-minute walk from the clinic to the house. That walk, however, felt endless.

I stared longingly at my daughter's shoes as we paved our way home.

She was wearing a pair of Birkenstocks, the same ones she wore every damn day. They were simple and grey. Closed off in the front and open in the back. Nothing special. I remembered the countless amount of times I told her to wear them with socks. And she simply refused to. No matter how much I yelled at her, begged her or showed her how comfortable socks were… she never agreed to wear them. She _hated_ socks.

I remembered when I told her to wear something else; she simply shut me out. I brought her these gorgeous polka-dotted red and black flats on her birthday and she bluntly threw them away. They had cost me a fortune.

When I insisted she wear them, she threw tantrums. She screamed, she yelled into her pillow, she had nervous breakdowns and often, just shut herself out. She fought so hard to wear her Birkenstocks because she was so used to them, because they had become a part of her daily routine.

She couldn't let go of these shoes. They were dusty; their color had faded away into a lighter, dirtier shade of grey, which made them look cheaper.

I once offered to buy her the _same _pair of Birkenstocks on her birthday and she refused to get them. She stuck with the old ones.

Just by looking at my daughter's feet, I realized that there were an incalculable number of symptoms that I had been ignoring. Not because I was not aware that her habits were unusual, but because I did not want to admit it. I only wanted to see the good in her and that often resulted in ignorance.

When I got home, my mom was not there. I pulled out the ruffled piece of paper out of my bag and read the name of Sugar's possible Special Education teacher.

Her name was: Brittany S Pierce.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I felt it was important to dive into Santana's past before introducing Brittany. This chapter will answer a lot of your questions. Enjoy! **

It was a Friday morning, Noah 'Puck' Puckerman, one the most popular jocks approached me in the school hallway. He asked me if I wanted to go out with him to a party later that night. My answer was an evident yes. His arrogance was a definite turn off but I was determined to keep my status as the most popular girl in school. This may sound shallow, but I had a reputation to uphold. And to stay on top, I had to date someone who was of equal status.

I remember my first date with Puck so conspicuously. He promised to pick me up at 8PM. He said he was going to take me to Rachel Berry's house party. I was sure that I was going to be spotted by people at school, who would in return, spread rumors about Noah and I around campus.

That night, I wore my tall, dark hair up in a nice ponytail and let a large streak of it fall down to the side. I sported a tight red Bebe dress that had cost me a fortune and paired it up with a vintage, leather jacket that once belonged to my mother. It had silver studs prancing around both sides of the jacket.

As I was finishing by adding the last touches of makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror and whispered "I look smoking hot."

I exhibited the kind of confidence most girls would kill for and I certainly used it for my benefit. Most girls chose to insult me by calling me things like_ a bitch _or _a_ _narcissist. _For some reason, they felt threatened by the pride I had when I spoke of myself_. _I had no apologies though, I embraced my ego.

After a few minutes, I took a glance at my phone.

_3 Missed Calls from Noah Puckerman._

Fuck.

He left me a voice mail message "Dude, we're already late to the fucking party. At this rate, I am going to miss the whole thing."

I rapidly rushed out of my room, flew down the stairs and ran straight to Noah's truck. I opened the front door of the filthy vehicle and closed it anxiously.

"Why're you late? I thought I was gonna fucking miss the party."

I pursed my lips together and gave him a look of pure and utter disgust. "Ugh, whatever, can you just drive and shut up?"

"Whoa, there! I think we got ourselves a case of the PMS. Am I right?" He raised his eyebrows and gave me a shallow half-smile.

"_PUCK_" I shrieked, clenching my fist, trying to keep myself calm and collected as he began to drive down the hollow streets.

"When are you going to clean up this fucking truck? Or are you just gonna let it get as infected and as filthy as your penis?" I said, uttering a snarky smile on my face.

"Well, you know what they say: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Same goes for my penis." He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road.

I giggled in return, not knowing what else to say.

Twenty minutes later, we got to our destination. Rachel's parents were famous Broadway producers. She was definitely one of the richest people in our town. Her wealth was quite possibly the only reason she was popular.

Her home wasn't really a home. It was like entering something out of a fairytale. It was simply magnificent.

When Rachel's maid opened up the gates of her house, I followed the long brick road that led us to the main entrance. Rachel insisted that the front yard of her home was designed after The Wizard of Oz. I mean, what else did I expect to see, walking into the home of two gay broadway producers and one annoyingly spoiled little rich girl?

As I reached the main entrance, Rachel greeted me with open arms. "Oh my god, Santana! Puck! I'm so glad you're here. Oh my god! I set up the karaoke machine upstairs and of course _I _will be singing. I was thinking of maybe singing Celine Dion's classic My Heart Will Go On or I don't know I think Barbra is better off for this occasion. I'm so happy!" Her voice squeaked in anticipation.

Puck and I looked at each other as we both flattened our lips, trying to refrain ourselves from laughter.

Puck extended his arms and clenched them together; he raised his eyebrow staring blankly into Rachel's eyes. "I'm just here for the booze." He snorted.

"Yeah, same. I came with Puck by the way." I flashed a cynical smile, holding Puck's hand. I led him to Rachel's Party room.

Yes, Rachel had a party room: a room just for parties. Located on the second floor of her mansion.

The ceiling was of the room was of immense height. I looked up to check the chandelier that stood in the middle of the ceiling. It was lavish, but it had a modern silhouette that gave the room just a bit of an edge. Its golden colors shimmered on to every corner of the room.

As I carefully examined the astounding room, Puck had already sprinted to the bar and ordered himself some vodka and mixed it up with half a can of diet seven up.

"I'm gonna need to get you a fucking leach" I argued, running closer to him. "Remember, you and I came together, okay? We need to stay together. People need to see us together."

"Ugh, why you gotta be like that San? Can't you just relax and have a drink."

"Shut up, and give me _your_ drink." I said as I snatched the plastic cup away from his hands. I took a sip. "Ugh, this is gross. What the hell is this?" I yelled, spitting out what I drank.

"It's vodka. It's an acquired taste babe." Puck smirked and added "Here, how about a whiskey shot?"

"Okay..." I said hesitantly.

He waved his hands, calling the bartender. He ordered a couple of shots for the both of us.

Soon enough, I found myself ordering shots for myself while Puck stood next to me, sober, observing my first _real _experience with alcohol.

Two hours later, Puck offered to slow dance with me.

As we were dancing, I noticed that we stood comfortably closer together. I rested my arm against his red Letterman jacket. I gently caressed his arm up and down, while he tried to hold on to his pace. He suddenly looked down to lock eyes with me. I slowly placed my hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer to me. I began to kiss his neck and gradually reached up to give him a smooch on the lips. He put his arm on my hip and deliberately pulled me closer to him. He prolonged that kiss.

I sensed that everyone at the party had their eyes on us. The attention we were getting gave me an unexpected adrenaline rush.

It was then that I whispered in his ear "Let's finish this in the truck."

And so we finished it in the truck.

* * *

**Two Months Later:**

"Puck, I'm pregnant." I swallowed as I stood paralleling Puck, watching as his world shattered before his eyes.

My eyes watered after I muttered those words in an incomprehensible and rather faint way. I had waited weeks to break the news to him, and I just had to have the courage to tell him. It was his right to know, just as it was mine.

The look on his face was one that I would never forget; it was just your average look of confusion dipped with a hint of hopelessness that was so obviously shown through his cagey eyes.

"Uhhh… Are you… Are you sure?" He hesitated "they could be wrong. They are always wrong. They're wrong."

"Puck…" I gulped "I went to a doctor."

The sentence was followed by a long, unmoved silence. His eyes opened wildly as he tried to grasp the news, the look on his face still faint.

He later muttered quietly, holding his tears back, "What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know, I was thinking of getting an abortion."

"Give it to a family who needs it! A family that has been waiting to have a goddamn baby for so fucking long!" He yelled out, tears in his eyes. Not caring about the cowardice image that was associated with a crying man. "Don't kill my baby. Please Santana you don't understand!"

Without hesitation, I nodded "It's too late now anyway. I think."

Puck frowned and shook his head "Have you told you parents yet?"

"My mom came into my room the other day and saw me crying. She immediately knew something was up, so I confessed. I told her everything. She's being supportive though. She knows this is _my _responsibility."

"And your dad?"

I pursed my lips together, looked down as I began to tear up even more "My… my dad left us when I was 8 years old…"

Puck placed his thumb on my chin and started drawing circles on it; he then delicately pulled my head up with his index finger to lock eyes with me. He breathed heavily and whispered "My dad left my mom and I too. He ran away with some slutty African-American waitress and never looked back." He exhaled and followed it up with an appreciative, warm grin. He pulled me closer to him and hugged me so tight.

I was in desperate need for that hug. And as I came to realize, Puck needed it just as much as I did. I was carrying _his _baby too. We were in this together. This was the first time that I had ever shared so much of myself with another person. And I don't think Puck had shown this much vulnerability to someone else before.

* * *

**5 Months Later: **

Puck and I waited outside the doctor's office to confront our practitioner. We hadn't scheduled this appointment ahead of time. We had accurately been waiting for half an hour, and I was pretty sure we still had an hour before we could get in.

I held in my hands one of those annoying pregnancy magazine and scoffed at the pathetic articles. One of these articles discussed the proper diets a pregnant woman should follow.

_I mean, for fuck's sake, I was as big as a balloon, I needed nachos and ice cream and Cheetos. What kind of woman eats a salad for two?_

Puck was sitting next to me, on a white leather couch, texting his friend or whatever. "How do you feel?" he voluntarily unglued his eyes from his Blackberry.

"Fine." I answered irritably, "let's wait for the doctor ask me those dumbass, obvious questions, gots it?" I flaunted a snarky smile.

"No, I mean about not being able to formally graduate next week?"

I rolled my eyes, trying to avoid the question.

Here's the thing. The school didn't want me to get up on the graduation podium with a belly that was probably bigger and brighter than my future. They thought that having a pregnant student standing on the graduation stage, receiving her diploma, was something that could possibly tarnish the school's reputation.

I did end up graduating though, I just didn't receive a formal graduation. My diploma simply got mailed to my home. That was it.

My mom tried to give me a proper celebration: She invited some of my friends over for cake and popped a bottle of champagne that I couldn't even get a taste of. She tried to make things easier for me. I just knew I was missing out on a lot. Prom, graduation, the cheerleading's team's first place nationals win… My last year of high school was most certainly my worst.

"I'm actually pretty fucking devastated at the double standards at this school!" I finally spoke, I began to rant angrily. "I mean… I completed my senior year. Well, sort of. I did have a lot of absences, including the last couple of months. But I studied my ass off for fifteen fucking years. And guess what? I don't even get to stand on that podium and smile at the cameras while I accept my diploma."

"Did you find out the sex of the baby?" Puck asked, changing the subject completely.

"Ugh, finding out the sex of the baby is the last thing on my mind now. This whole giving-this-baby-up-for-adoption thing is stressing me the fuck out. I only have two months to find a decent, loving home for my baby before it pops out of my vagina."

"Do they do that? Do they really just _pop _out of there?" I noticed a puzzled look in his eyes. I wasn't sure whether he was kidding or not, which worried me.

"I hope the baby doesn't inherit your brains."

After a long silence, Puck shrieked "It's a girl."

"What?"

"I asked the nurse the other time we were here, she told me that the baby was a girl."

"Oh my god!" A gigantic smile suddenly appeared on my face. I covered up my astonished mouth with both of my hands.

_OH MY GOD! IT'S A GIRL!_

There I was, I had reached my third trimester and I only _just_ found out the sex of the baby.

The doctors and nurses had all previously asked if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. I always thought that this would make things seem more real. I wanted to deny the truth of my situation and simply disguise it as something that was more bearable. I knew I was going to let the baby go eventually and that thought always left me feeling gutted. I thought that finding out the sex of the baby would only offer worse contributions. It would make me realize that the baby I was carrying was a real human being. A human being that was going to grow up without knowing his or her biological mother_, _without knowing the person whose genes they've inherited.

"A million names just popped into my head all at once." I told Puck, still flashing that big ole' goofy grin.

"Tell me your favorite." He said, showing off half a smile and a hint of curiosity.

I thought about it for a second.

"Ugh, this is too embarrassing, I can't" I blushed, covering my face up with my hands like a shy little idiot.

"Well, you know, when I was in the cheerios, everyone referred to me as Spicy! Cheerio. I know, I know it's dumb but I've always felt like that nickname described me perfectly. I was sassy, I was red-hot, I don't know I guess I added a bit of _spice_ to the cheerleading squad." I said, feeling slightly embarrassed but also very _very_ content.

"Where are you going with this?" Puck's confused look struck again.

"You need Sugar and Spice to make everything nice." I giggled, my cheeks were blushing real hard now: I was practically a lobster, "I mean, it's all about originality these days. Gwyneth Paltrow named her baby Apple. There's no reason for me not to call this baby Sugar."

"Sugar? I like it. You didn't have to go through all that explanation." Puck grinned.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter anyway, we're not actually going to keep it." I answered back as my smile faded away.

"Why not?" Puck exclaimed. I raised my eyebrow in bewilderment, he continued nonetheless, "I got a really good job offer in L.A cleaning pools. I could make a _fortune_. You can stay here in Lima and work. You can _still_ go to college. Your mom can babysit the kid when you're away."

He took a pause and continued, "Face it, both of our fathers bailed on us and it still hurts as hell. I don't wanna be a parent that just bails on his kid. And I know you don't want that either." He circled both of his hands around mine "_Sugar_ already has something better than we do: She has _two_ loving parents."

"Puck I don't think I can take care of a baby at 18-years-old and go to college and work. I'm not mature or responsible enough."

"We've worked through these past seven months as a team. We'll get through the next eighteen years as a team."

Somehow Puck had me convinced. I couldn't quite describe my feelings at that moment because my thoughts were all over the place.A large part of me wanted to raise this little girl as my own. I mean, I really did feel as though she was _mine_. Giving her up would be an awfully difficult process.

But then again, I was too fucking young to raise a _human being_. I couldn't manage the stress of being a 'teen mom'.

"I talked to my mom and she's convinced." He said, smiling from ear-to-ear.

"What?"

"Yeah, my mom thinks I can do it... I'm sorry, I mean, she thinks _we_ can do it." He added "I'm sure if I talked to your mom, I can let her agree to this arrangement."

I nodded in agreement and displayed a large beam of my own.

And just like that… I made the most important and life-changing decision of my life.

* * *

**2 Months Later:**

On August 25th, I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl in the world.

Everyone said that she looked like me; they also complimented her cute little nose. Puck's mom said she was thankful Sugar didn't inherit the Puckerman family's jewish nose.

She was born a healthy baby, weighing in at 8 lbs. Sugar was beautiful, she was innocent, she really was everything nice.

Puck helped support me during labor and unquestionably learned the truth about birth-giving.

My mom was also there to help with this painful process and I was undoubtedly grateful for her open-mindedness and the undivided love and support she had for me.

**1-5 years after that:**

I didn't end up going to college. My first priority was raising Sugar. I worked as a sales-woman at our largest local toy store. I was really good at my job, and eventually, I got promoted and became manager. I often brought Sugar with me since they had a small playground kids could play at.

Puck moved to LA and pursued his dream of becoming a full-time pool cleaner. He was also at the top of his game, but he didn't manage to make enough money to visit Sugar and I as much as he had planned.

It wasn't easy raising Sugar. When she turned two, I started following this pattern and noticed that she might have been different that most kids. Her pediatrician noticed it too.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello" a soft, heartening young voice came at the other end of the line.

"Hi. Is this Brittany Pierce?" I asked shyly.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Santana Lopez, Dr. Smythe told me you were a Special Education teacher. And I was wondering if you could…"

"Help your kid?" Brittany interrupted me mid sentence.

"Yeah," I giggled nervously "My daughter was literally just diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome and she… Actually, _we_ both need a little guidance and help."

"Text me your address. Let's meet up tomorrow." She said in a bright, upbeat tone.

"Okay." I answered back, dribbled in confusion.

She hung up.

That was it.

That was my first conversation with Brittany.

I was shocked at her ability to make such a hasty decision, without even asking _one_ question. A random question about my daughter would've been fine. But she had nothing to say.

If she was going to work with a child, shouldn't she at least ask a couple of basic questions first? We did not even get to talk about how we were going to handle this financially.

I did end up texting her my address and told her to come by as soon as possible.

She answered with a simple. _"I'm dropping by tomorrow at 5PM, is that okay? __" _

I went back to work that day and got Sugar a gift as I was leaving. I got her the puzzle she consistently nagged me about.

When I arrived home, I greeted my mom who was busy in the kitchen and apologized to her for my tardiness.

Sugar was standing in front of the television in the kitchen. She stood still, in awe of the colorful, fluid pictures she was being exposed to through the screen. Her pupil widened to the images and sounds that were being presented to her and her body remained adamant.

I went over to her, pulled a chair and sat beside her.

I gave her the bag with the present inside of it. "I have a surprise for you." I cheered.

She gasped and hurriedly unwrapped the present, expressing nothing but sheer excitement. I watched as she showed off all of her pearly whites through a delightfully warm smile.

"So… Do you like it?" I asked as I clutched her thin little arm.

"Yes."

"Say 'thank you mommy'"

"Thank you mommy" she repeated in a rapid voice, attempting to detach my hand from her arm.

I chuckled, looking straight into her joy-filled, picturesque brown eyes.

_She was such a beautiful girl, _I thought to myself.

I removed my hand from her arm after realizing that I had been holding on to it a little too tightly "Sorry, you can go to your room and set it up. I love you!"

She smiled and ran to her room as fast as she could, holding in her right hand the puzzle that made her wholeheartedly ecstatic.

* * *

The following day was a Saturday, which meant Sugar didn't have school and I could finish work early. I was done around two o'clock.

Sugar occupied herself with her puzzle while I did some more research about Asperger's.

At 5PM sharp, the doorbell rang.

_It was Brittany. I was sure it was._

I ran to the door with my hair tied up in a messy bun, no makeup, wearing nothing but sweatpants and an over-sized white flannel.

I opened the door and I saw her for the first time.

"Hello," she said.

Wow.

She most definitely caught my eye at the very first glance.

She tousled her golden-colored hair to the right side of her head. Tall, blonde streaks waved through the edge of her face and glittered so congenially.

Her mouth slowly widened to expose an unexpectedly captivating smile. The sharp look in her blue eyes was also magnificently mesmerizing. Both had the power to induce strong likings towards her before even getting to know her.

She was your typical girl next door but there was something outlandish about her.

I took another second to examine her outfit, which was simply lovely.

She wore a white, mid-sleeved, over-sized shirt with small, closely-knit, black horizontal stripes. A twinkling red heart dominated the part of the shirt that stood between her chest and her abdomen. She sported mid-length black shorts that revealed her long, muscular legs. She added suspenders that went above her shoulders. She finished off the look by wearing sheer, black socks that reached up to her knee and short leather boots.

She looked effortlessly perfect.

I began to feel intimidated by her peculiar, gorgeous persona. I was used to being, and ultimately feeling like the prettiest girl in the room. So I saw Brittany as both a potential threat and a breath of fresh air.

"Um... Hi" I answered, a few seconds after properly examining her.

"Can I come in?" She asked in irony, pointing at the inside of the house.

"Yeah, um… sure. Sorry."

She giggled, as she walked into my doorstep "It's okay."

"Let me take you on a tour of our house before I introduce you to Sugar."

"Okay." And right then and there, she reached her right hand out in an attempt to hold _my_ hand.

As soon as I felt the tip of her fingers make contact with my hand, I swiftly pulled my hand away from hers. "What the fuck are you doing?" I panted.

_What the hell was she even thinking holding my hand?_

"I was trying to hold your hand. It'd be easier for me to follow you around that way."

"Don't do that." I responded in a stern tone.

She shrugged and after a few awkward seconds, she smirked and added, "I once worked with this kid who had a severe case of OCD. He was a definite germaphobe. Whenever I tried to hold his hand, he would sweat in nervousness. One time he even got a panic attack. He did everything he could to avoid holding my hands or hugging me or grabbing onto objects that might have carried even the least amount of germs. One day, I came with this idea of linking pinkies."

"Linking pinkies?" I interrupted, raising my eyebrows in confusion.

"Yes. _Linking pinkies_. Instead of holding each other's hands, we would simply interlock our pinkies together. It was like an act of compassion, an act of love and mutual understanding. And after a lot of time, he got so used to it, he became comfortable enough to lock hands with me. The act of _linking pinkies_ was slowly transformed into hand-holding."

"That's cute... I guess... But what does that have to do with anything?"

"If you're not comfortable with hand-holding…"

"I'm not 'comfortable' with hand-holding because I only just met you. The house isn't even big enough for you to get lost in. Why would you insist on it?"

"Because I think a little compassion is always a wonderful way of greeting someone into your home, specially someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with." The blonde said in a colorfully cheerful tenor, still expressing a drool-worthy beam across her face.

I rolled my eyes over my head and splashed a diffident smile "Fine, whatever." I held my pinkie out, allowing her to lock her pinkie with mine.

I worried tremendously while I held Brittany's finger and showed her around the house.

I was literally performing the most insignificant physical contact with this woman, yet _still, _I felt like we were establishing some sort of intimacy. That gesture made my finger feel safe. I just couldn't stop smiling.

We arrived to Sugar's room upstairs. I knocked on the bright-blue-colored wooden door that separated us from the five-year-old. "Sugar, mommy wants you to meet someone very, very special."

She didn't answer. I opened the door regardless.

Her puzzles were often such a huge distraction that she focused only on them, neglecting everything else in her surrounding.

"Sugar, this is Brittany. Say hi." I told Sugar, gently pulling her hair to her back.

"Hi Brittany." The little brunette said in a monotonous tone, her eyes still buried in her half-finished puzzle.

"Sugar. Oh my, you look like a beautiful little princess. Do you like Disney princesses?" The blonde one exclaimed.

"Yeah." Sugar said, still barely showcasing any expressions.

"Honey, please, stop playing with your puzzle for a second and focus with us. Brittany came here to play with you." I said.

Sugar obeyed and immediately separated the puzzle from her sight. She looked up at Brittany for the first time, smiled and said in a cheerful tone, "Your hair is blonde."

"Yes. Yes it is. Do you like blond hair?"

Sugar nodded. Brittany chuckled. Her laughter made my daughter laugh in return. And Sugar's laugh trapped me in a long, unexplained laughter myself. And just like that, the circle was complete.

This was unusual. I used to take Sugar to play-dates all the time and she didn't get along with other kids very easily. Her condition made it very difficult for her to be sociable, and sometimes, she simply didn't want to be sociable.

"So… I'm going to leave you two kids alone." I cheered in glee and left the room.

I went to my room and decided to call Puck on Skype and to see how things were going with him.

He told me all about his growing business in L.A. He also mentioned the married, forty-year-old woman he kept hooking up with, the one who always bought him expensive gifts. He loved to brag about that kind of stuff.

Finally, I decided to break the news to him.

"I went to Dr. Smythe's office yesterday." I said, breaking the over-joyed tone that ruled over this conversation.

"What did he say?" Puck responded in worrisome.

"Sugar has Asperger's, it's kind of like a mild autism." I whispered hesitantly.

Puck stood silently for a few seconds, glaring at his iPad and then followed the news up with a half-smile, "Hey, as long as she's healthy and happy…"

I smiled. I was glad Puck took the news better than I did. He had always been a brighter, more optimistic person than I was.

"No matter what, she'll always be the most beautiful person in the world." He added.

"Yes, _and_ the smartest. I brought her a puzzle for 7-to-9-year-olds yesterday and she's halfway done with it. I mean… _wow_." I gabbled proudly.

"So where is this little brainiac? I want to talk to her."

"She's in her room, playing with her Special Education teacher."

"You got her a _private teacher_? What the fuck Santana?" Puck raged, "how the fuck am I supposed to afford all this shit? And what if she's not good? _How_ can you get someone to fucking observe my child as a _fucking case-study_ without at least getting my freaking approval first?"

"Calm down you Jewish man-whore. I will work out an arrangement with her. I have a good feeling about this. Sugar _needs _her. Don't you dare think I don't know about our financial problems!"

"I don't think you do."

"Maybe if you stopped fucking other men's wives, and actually started doing what they goddamn paid you to do, you would have more clients and a better fucking income." I answered in fury as I blatantly hung up the phone.

I felt emptied after struggling through a horrible conversation about my even more horrible situation. I wanted to just rest my head against the sofa and watch some TV downstairs.

An hour later, Brittany and Sugar came down stairs and proceeded into the living room where I was laying comfortably on the couch.

"I think we're done for the day." Brittany said, holding hands with Sugar, showcasing a genuine smirk. "She showed me a game on her iPad, we read her favorite book, she even showed me the puzzles she finished. She's such a smart little girl. We had some great times, didn't we Sugar?"

Sugar nodded. I smiled at both of them.

"Okay, how much do I owe you?" I asked.

"Nothing, today's session is for free."

"Okay, well should we discuss future financial arrangements?"

"No. That's not necessary." The blonde mentioned joyfully, while I expressed confusion "Sugar is the first Aspie I work with. I'm interested in seeing how this goes."

"What?"

"Let's schedule another meeting." Brittany said in anticipation.

"You know what? I don't think that is going to be necessary. I don't think this is going to work out." I showed her to the door and closed it rapidly.

I carried Sugar to her bed. I went to my room and tried to forget this day ever happened.


End file.
